


The Invitation

by reizend



Series: Business [2]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Love/Hate, M/M, No Smut, Period Typical Language, brief mention of Darby Sabini, brief mention of Grace Burgess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 01:28:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13400580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reizend/pseuds/reizend
Summary: The conversation went as it normally did with the two; Thomas let out just enough information to keep Alfie interested and Alfie chased after it like a starved cat after a mouse.***Mature for language and some mild violence.





	The Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of a next-part/follow-up to 'Just Business.'

The details of what had happened at the derby gave Alfie everything he needed to know about Thomas Shelby and Darby Sabini, including his own future in Camden Town. The Blinders were successful in their tasks and Sabini wouldn’t be a problem from there on out. Then, for days after the derby, Alfie didn’t hear a word from the Birmingham gangsters. He heard a lot of things from Sabini, which generally consisted of  begging, pleading, and apologies: things he didn’t quite _care_ to hear. In fact, of any of the times Sabini called him, Alfie hung up the phone either silently or while laughing.

But nothing from Thomas Shelby.

He even reached out to the Blinder; still, nothing.

When two full weeks had carried on with absolute silence from the gangster, Alfie was concerned about what would happen with the renewed contract. He called every phone number he had for Thomas - including that of his sister, Ada. Despite being the only one to answer the phone, Ada had little patience for Alfie’s inquiry and promptly disconnected. He tapped his fingers aggressively against his desk as he thought over the situation. Certainly, the contract was still in place and the distillery products were being shipped to their locations under the Shelby Limited name, but there was no _Shelby._

During the third week of ongoing silence, Alfie had been preparing to leave the bakery when Ollie shouted for him. With a sigh, he turned slowly on his heel to return inside and met Ollie’s stare. Indignant, he simply waited for the younger Jew to speak.

“Phone - the phone, it’s for you.”

“ _Who_ is it,” he barked back.

“It’s, uh, it’s Thomas. Thomas Shelby. He says it’s urgent.”

Alfie paused and considered what the phone call could mean. He stormed back across the bakery and shed his coat as he did so. He slammed the door to his office shut and snatched the receiver off of the desk.

“Tommy,” Alfie grunted and pressed it to his ear. “What’s so fucking _urgent_ you couldn’t answer your phone two weeks ago.”

The conversation went as it normally did with the two; Thomas let out just enough information to keep Alfie interested and Alfie chased after it like a starved cat after a mouse. As much as he wanted to know more, he needed to keep his business on track and arguing with Thomas over petty things was at the bottom of his priority list. The urgency in the call ended up being Thomas’ need to get into London quietly for a day or two. Alfie tried to pry out more information on the reason for his visit, but Thomas stonewalled him at every question.

After managing to work out some details for Thomas’ travels, the call ended and Alfie stared at the phone. He picked his coat up again and shook his head, a quiet mutter of “Thomas fucking Shelby” escaping his lips as he departed the office. He cut across the distillery to inform Ollie that he would be leaving the bakery for a short time. The details for Thomas’ arrival was otherwise kept quiet and restricted only to Alfie’s knowledge.

That is, it was kept quiet until the day Thomas was set to arrive. The exact details of the arrangement were left with Ollie in the event Alfie was unable to make the initial meeting point. It wasn’t for lack of trying, however. Somewhere along the route back to his bakery, Alfie had gotten caught up in a confrontation with one of Darby Sabini’s boys, who happened to be on the wrong side of the city at a very wrong time. The altercation took place in a pub not too far from Alfie’s bakery and, per the ordinance with Thomas Shelby, no police took any action until the baker had already left the scene.

In the interim, Thomas had arrived as scheduled to the Aerated Bread Company and was met with a cautious pat-down from Ollie.The young Jew was quick to confiscate Thomas’ firearm and peaky - which the Shelby gave up willingly. With a cigarette between his lips, Thomas silently followed as Ollie lead him across the distillery to a small area next to Alfie’s office. A short partition separated it from the rest of the bakery and behind it there was a table with several chairs around it and some coat hooks on the wall; clearly meant to be some sort of area for the workers to have short breaks.

Ollie nodded toward a chair and Thomas took a seat, though his brow was raised expectantly.

“What’s this,” he asked as he gestured to the empty space around him. “I’m meeting with _Mister Solomons._ ”

“Alfie isn’t back yet,” Ollie muttered.

“He’s aware I was coming.”

“He’s been held up,” the young man nodded and crossed his arms.

Thomas squinted at Ollie, as if he were trying to read the younger man’s face to get a further elaborated answer. When nothing came, apart from Ollie’s awkward shift to try and maintain composure, Thomas nodded and took a long drag of his cigarette. After he exhaled a cloud of smoke, he tapped the ashes off the end, and raised his shoulders in a subtle shrug.

“Very well,” he conceded without causing further debate. “I don’t suppose there’s any whisky lying around.”

Ollie stammered for a moment before he disappeared on the distillery side of the partition. Upon his return, he presented an open bottle of whisky that was nearly fully with an empty glass. “Here - it’s not from Alfie’s stash, he won’t mind.”

Thomas nodded and took the bottle. One leg crossed over the other and he pointed the bottle toward Ollie. “For me, I don’t think he’d mind,” he commented before he poured himself a drink. “Particularly because _he_ is late.”

A smirk briefly crossed Ollie’s face at the suggestion, but it disappeared just as soon as Thomas’ gaze lifted from the glass.

“He should be back soon,” he commented after he cleared his throat.

Thomas raised the glass and quickly downed the contents before he sat back in the chair. Between drinking and the idle chit-chat, he took drags of his cigarette and blew his smoke toward Ollie. After a few minutes of exchanging minor opinions on the weather, Thomas put the cigarette out on the table and laced his fingers as he rested them on his lap.

“Are you a gambling man, Ollie?”

The young Jew swallowed hard and nodded, unsure of exactly where the line of questioning was headed.

“I knew you were,” Thomas stated as if he had the answer all along. “How would you like to make a bet?”

“On - uh - on what, Mister Shelby?”

As he lifted the bottle of whisky to pour himself another drink, Thomas cast a glance toward the direction they had come from. “I bet you twenty pounds Alfie comes in drunk and barely standing.”

Ollie paused for a second before a quiet laugh escaped him. He paused, however, noting that Thomas was not laughing with him. “O-oh, you’re serious?”

“That’s my wager.”

The Jew shook his head and offered a smirk to Thomas. “Alfie doesn’t get like that. I’d bet he comes in with blood on his knuckles.”

“So, you think he got into a fight, eh?”

“Sounds more reasonable than completely bent,” he refrained from laughing again.

“I’ll take that bet,” Thomas mused and fished a 20 pounds from his pocket to place on the table.

After he pat his pockets for a moment, Ollie retrieved the same amount and added it to Thomas’. He leaned to peer toward the rest of the distillery, listening intently for Alfie’s arrival. The chatter between them, while still idle, seemed to expand beyond simply just the weather as Ollie found himself a little more comfortable with Thomas Shelby drinking whisky in the bakery. He sat himself down next to Thomas and drummed his fingers on the table as they talked about horses and the races. Thomas didn’t pry into Alfie’s business via Ollie and Ollie didn’t have to warn Thomas not to cross any certain lines. It was almost as if they were just two men sitting in a pub, discussing their sport.

At some point, Thomas poured some whisky into the glass and pushed it toward Ollie before he took a drink from the bottle to finish it off. Ollie quickly drank the contents of the glass and leaned his chin into his palm. He offered another half hearted apology to Thomas for Alfie’s tardiness, which Thomas waved off with a simple flick of the wrist. He retrieved another cigarette and lit it, as opposed to say anything.

Just as Ollie opened his mouth to speak again, both his and Thomas’ attention were drawn to the entryway of the ‘break room.’ The all-too familiar voice of Alfie Solomons hollering some commands pulled them from their conversation. Ollie stood up and quickly ducked out of the area to try and intercept Alfie before he got too far into the bakery.

“Ollie,” Alfie huffed, a glare aimed at the younger boy. “Where is he?”

Ollie made a quiet gesture toward the break area and Alfie nodded. He shoved his black coat into Ollie’s hands and ran his hand over his beard. “We’ll be going up to the flat, right,” he muttered, raising a finger to wag in Ollie’s face. “You don’t say nothing to no one about that, yeah? Anyone asks, I’m out on fucking business.”

The young man nodded and held onto the coat. He explained that he was holding Thomas’ gun and handed it off to his boss, in exchange. As Alfie pulled away from him, he noticed that there was the faintest, red discoloration; the tell-tale signs of what used to be blood. Behind Alfie’s back, he grinned before he turned away and went about his business.

As Alfie approached the door, Thomas was just exhaling smoke from his most recent cigarette. The baker swatted the smoke he happened to walk into and planted his hands on his hips, a firm indication he was in no mood for witty banter.

“Tommy.”

“Afternoon, Alfie.”

“Yeah, it is. Get your things, we’re going upstairs.”

Thomas raised a brow and languidly reached a hand to swipe the 40 quid on the table.

“... oi, what’s that?”

“A bet.”

“A what.”

“I made a bet that you were going to return here drunk and hardly able to stand.”

“With who?”

“Ollie.”

“... right, well, you fucking lost that one, didn’t you. Now get up.”

Thomas rolled his eyes and gradually pushed himself up. He folded the notes precisely and held out his open hand toward Alfie. “My gun.”

The baker quickly turned over the firearm and peaky, which drew Thomas’ attention down to his hand. He shook his head and smirked before he took back the weapons; both finding home in his coat.

“What’s funny?”

“Ollie was right,” Thomas mumbled, holding up the money to Alfie. “Make sure he gets that.”

“... what’s that mean,” he furrowed his brow and clenched his jaw.

“It means that Ollie bet that you were late because you got into a fight. The dried blood on your hands seems to confirm that, Mister Solomons.”

Alfie shook his head and turned away from Thomas, only after he snatched the money from him. “Let’s go, Tommy. I ain’t got all fucking day.”

Side by side, the gangsters headed for the flat above the bakery. Upon entry, Alfie slammed the door shut behind him and made a direct line for the small kitchen. While Alfie disappeared, Thomas looked around the messy apartment. Though he knew it wasn’t Alfie’s regular living quarters and was more of just an auxiliary place to stay, it was nothing shy of a mess. Thomas kicked lightly at an empty bottle on the floor and slid his hands into his trouser pockets, cigarette still hanging from his lips.  
  
“Drink, Thomas,” Alfie asked from his spot in the kitchen.  
  
“Quite alright, Alfie, I had plenty downstairs,” he mumbled through his cigarette.  
  
Alfie emerged with a glass in his hand and quirked a brow at Thomas as he stood in the center of the messy flat. He swirled the drink with a gentle flick of his wrist and gestured to a chair in the corner of the room. Thomas pulled it from it’s spot and sat down in it, after he hung his coat off the back of it.  
  
“Right, so. You talked to me about coming to London, yeah,” he paused. He received an affirmative nod from Thomas as the Blinder finished his cigarette and put it out on the bottom of his shoe. “Why’s it you wanted to come here so bad, eh? You was just here with the whole derby thing.”  
  
“I have something to speak with you about,” he spoke, hands folded in his lap. “Just some business.”  
  
Alfie quickly drank the contents of his drink, placed the glass down on a nearby end table and crossed his arms over his chest. He leaned against the nearest wall with a curious brow risen. “Well? Are you gonna talk about it or just fucking stare at me,” he spoke in a way that indicated it was more of a statement than a question.  
  
“Maybe you’d rather read it,” Thomas said as he stood up. He fished around the inside pocket of the hanging coat and retrieved a small envelope, ‘Solomons’ was written on the front of it in an elegant calligraphy. “For you.”  
  
The baker pursed his lips and snatched the letter from Thomas. With his brows furrowed, he lifted the glasses on the chain around his neck and began to carefully open it. As he pulled out the ornate paper inside, Thomas sat down and crossed his legs. He lit another cigarette and waited for Alfie to finish reading.  
  
“ _Dear Mister Solomons_ ,” he read aloud, a pointed glare aimed at Thomas. “Fuck off, Tommy. What is this?”  
  
“Go on.”  
  
“ _Dear Mister Solomons,”_ he began again, clearing his throat as he continued this time. “ _You are cordially invited to the wedding of Mr. Thomas Shelby -_ you fucking what?”  
  
Thomas raised his shoulders and kept a keen eye on Alfie.  
  
The Baker had a rather adverse reaction to the invitation. Immediately, before he’d even gotten to the bottom of it, he crumpled it up in his fist. Thomas nonchalantly raised a brow.  
  
“You’re fucking about, right. This isn’t why you came to fucking London.”  
  
“This is precisely why I came to _fucking_ London.”  
  
Alfie dropped the paper and the envelope on the floor. “No, Tommy. I ain’t going to your fucking wedding, whenever it fucking is, with whoever it fucking is.”  
  
“So be it,” he remarked, though he didn’t move from his seat.  
  
“You really expected I would want to go to your fucking wedding, Tommy. Ain’t I told you, men like us - right, _us -_ don’t get fucking married.”  
  
“No, I didn't expect you to go, I thought this would be the easiest way to tell you that _I’m_ getting married. Sometime within a few months.”  
  
Alfie’s face reddened at the retort and fury built behind his eyes. Thomas recognized the look and stood up while he removed the cigarette from his mouth. It only took a moment for Alfie to push himself off the wall and accost Thomas, hands gripped firmly at the Blinder’s collar.  
  
“Fucking _married,_ ” Alfie shouted at him and jerked him by his collar.  
  
“Yes, Alfie,” Thomas’ response wasn’t as calm as he anticipated it to be and his voice stuttered subtly. “I’m getting married.”  
  
The baker released the hold of his right hand on Thomas’ collar. He cocked his arm back and delivered a punch directly to Thomas’ face, which released his hold on the Shelby altogether. Thomas staggered back and a hand met his cheek, cradling what had just been punched. With a shift of his jaw, a quiet ‘pop’ resounding, he smashed his cigarette out on the nearest wall and dropped the rest of it on the ground. He lunged at Alfie and threw a responding punch at the baker’s face.  
  
His fist collided with Alfie’s jaw and as he stepped back, a hand raised to afflicted part, his glare met Thomas’. The two stood in a brief moment of quiet before Alfie launched another attack on Thomas.  
  
“Alfie -” Thomas tried to interject, but was met with a collision of their bodies. Alfie grabbed a hold of Thomas’ shirt and shoved him backwards toward a nearby wall. As Thomas’ back was pressed flat against the wall, Alfie prepared another punch aimed for the Blinder’s face. Thomas was quick to shove his palm into Alfie’s eye, despite the hold he’d managed to get caught in.  
  
The palm threw off Alfie’s trajectory and he punched the wall next to Thomas’ face. In the thick of the squabble, Thomas’ knee came at just the right angle to meet Alfie’s stomach. Alfie buckled slightly and backed off the wall just enough to give Thomas room. His other arm was cocked back and he tried to punch Alfie in the face again. Alfie grabbed a hold of Thomas shoulders and the two fell to the ground with a hefty thud; the chair Thomas had been sitting in followed suit. Being atop Alfie, Thomas quickly scrambled to straddle the other man and grabbed a hold of the front of his shirt. Arm pulled back, Thomas connected another punch to Alfie’s face.  
  
Not entirely powerless where he was, Alfie jerked his body to the side. In such a cramped space, it was relatively easy to throw Thomas off and pin the Blinder under his weight. He grit his teeth and clenched a fist, as if he were ready to punch the Shelby again. His hand, however, quickly found a resting place on the side of Thomas’ face, while his other hand grabbed at the short, dark hair. Alfie grunted before he crashed his mouth to Thomas’.  
  
Thomas protested with a grunt of his own, but Alfie didn’t let up. Only after a slow moment did Alfie part their iron-tasting kiss, leaving a red residue on Thomas’ mouth. While the fire hadn’t completely died from Alfie’s eyes, Thomas’ face was a combination of calmed and confused. Between panting breaths, Alfie slid his palm on Thomas’ mouth and knit his brow.  
  
“If you want to keep enjoying my _fucking_ company,” he growled out and pressed his forehead to Thomas’. “You will not mention her or some _fucking_ wedding again.”

Thomas furrowed his brow in response and let out a hefty sigh against the palm covering his mouth. He made a futile shove at Alfie’s shoulders until the man finally pushed himself off of Thomas and turned his back to the Shelby. He returned to the small kitchen in the flat and wiped his bleeding mouth with his forearm.  
  
“Alfie,” Thomas coughed out as he raised himself from the floor. “Your jealousy is _endearing -_ ”

“Fuck off, Tommy.”

“ _Alfie._ ”

“Fucking _what_ ,” he shouted back, clearing his face of leftover blood and appearing back at the archway.  
  
Thomas ran his hand over his own mouth before he reached forward and pulled Alfie toward him with a firm grip of his vest. He forcefully pressed his lips to Alfie’s again in a show of some forced kiss. Alfie returned it with aggression, simultaneously attempting to shove Thomas off of him. The Shelby didn’t budge and roughly pressed back against the baker. After a few more moments of the typical aggression passed between them, Thomas pulled himself from the kiss and stared the other in the eye. With a defiant snort, Alfie made a final shove to Thomas, who released Alfie’s vest and stepped back a few paces.  
  
He turned his back to the Shelby and ducked back into the kitchen where he picked up a rag and scrubbed at the drying blood on his face and his arm. He’d had nothing left to say to Thomas and took the act as a finalizing of their contract. The sound of Thomas clearing his throat, however, drew Alfie’s attention and he turned back to look the blinder over. Thomas stood with the crumpled up invitation in one hand and his lighter in the other. With a subtle loft of his brow, he found the nearest glass, ashtray and set the note ablaze. It burned slowly and when the clear tray as filled with black ash, Thomas looked toward Alfie with a piercing glare.  
  
“What’s her name, eh,” Alfie asked as he ran the damp rag between his hands.

“Who?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is highly based off the scene in J. Edgar between Hoover and Tolson when Hoover suggested he might get married - and since I saw that movie a while back, I've wanted to write a scene with Alfie and Tommy much like it, because that's the kind of trash fire I am. One day, I'll actually write smut for them.


End file.
